The Baldr Experiment

Rivendell Isn’t Where You Give the Burden Away The others didn’t arrive because I asked them to carry the story for me. They came because I needed it to be seen. Up until now, this had been a narrow road. A handful of companions. A weight carried quietly, carefully, so it didn’t trouble anyone else. But if the story was going to be done properly, not rushed, not broken, not shaped by fear, then it couldn’t stay private anymore. So I let people in. Not to fix it. Not to lead i

The Morning After I woke up and, for the first time in a long while, there was no sense of danger. Nothing watching. Nothing chasing. Nothing waiting for me to fail. Just warmth. Stillness. That deep, unfamiliar feeling of being properly looked after. Rivendell has a way of doing that. It doesn’t demand anything from you. It simply lets you rest until you remember who you are again. When I stepped outside, the others are there. Merry/Pippin, being exactly like they are, laugh

The Stand There is a point where you can’t outrun the doubt anymore. The climb to the river was the hardest part. Quiet. Heavy. It was the kind of stretch where the Dark Riders don’t even need to shout; they just wait for you to run out of breath. I reached the water with nothing left. No clever turns. No narrative tricks. Just the deep realization that I was ready to let the shadows have it. The Protector at the Water's Edge But my Arwen was there. My Arwen doesn’t write the

Wounds & Rescue The climb left its mark. Not all at once. Not dramatically. Just enough to realise that pushing the story forward, really pushing it had taken more than I’d noticed at the time. Not just tiredness, but the kind that settles deeper. The sort that makes even good progress feel heavy, and turns momentum into something that needs carrying. The direction was still right. The story still mattered. But continuing without pause would have been careless. Suziedog clock

Weathertop With Strider walking beside me, the journey felt steadier. There was direction now and fewer guesses. A sense that the story had a spine, even if the details were still changing. So I did what felt like the obvious next thing. I pushed the story forward. And almost immediately, it pushed back. A scene didn’t land the way I expected. A character choice felt thin under scrutiny. The shape of the story revealed a weak point, not loudly, but enough that it couldn’t be

Strider   Strider didn’t arrive with instructions. No grand plan. No dramatic entrance. Just a steady presence and a sense of knowing the road a little better than I did.   At this stage, the journey is still about shaping the story, the choices, the structure, the direction it might take, not writing anything yet, just learning how to move forward with intent.   This wasn’t about handing anything over. The story was still mine. The choices were still mine. But suddenly I was

Bree   After the ferry, the pressure lifted. Not completely, but enough to breathe again. Enough to enjoy the process instead of bracing against it. The story stopped chasing me, and for a moment, I let myself relax.   As the ideas got a little messier, the laughter crept back in. I stopped gripping the outline so tightly and remembered why this was fun in the first place.   Gandalf was still there, the spark, the belief, the reason I started, but he wasn’t standing next to m

The Ferry Once we were back on the road, it was obvious we weren’t alone anymore. The Dark Riders don’t arrive with drama. They arrive quietly, as questions that won’t let you rest. Is this storyline good enough? What if the story doesn’t work? What if you’re not the right person to write this? They followed close. Not visible but felt. Every step forward brought another whisper, another reason to slow down, to turn back, to make the whole thing smaller and safer. The pace pi

Get off the Road! Up until now, this journey had felt noisy but safe. Ideas flying around. Laughter. Snacks. The comfort of thinking rather than committing. Then the road changed. It wasn’t dramatic. There was no announcement. Just a quiet, unmistakable shift, like when you realise you’ve stopped wandering through fields and are now very much on the road . The outline in front of me suddenly felt heavier. The gaps more obvious. The responsibility sharper. That’s when the doub

When Merry & Pippin Arrived I’m still at the beginning of this journey, shaping ideas, sketching outlines, trying to coax a game story into existence one scribble at a time. It’s that fragile, exciting stage where everything feels possible…and a bit overwhelming. And right on cue, my own Merry and  Pippin arrived. (not two people, just one friend who somehow channels both energies at full volume) They didn’t wait to be invited. They just bounced into the outlining process wit

The First Step Outside the Shire A clay-style animated scene featuring two fantasy characters and a small dog in front of a hobbit-style house. A short video introducing Chapter 5 of The Baldr Experiment: taking the first step outside the Shire. Every great story begins with an unexpected visitor. Not always at the door, sometimes during a dog walk. Yesterday, my Gandalf arrived. I’d done my Mission Possible planning, stages mapped, colour-coded, feeling organised, composed,

Prologue Every story begins with a symbol. For The Baldr Experiment, this ring represents the moment curiosity turns into commitment. The adventure continues — one step at a time If you’ve seen my earlier Baldr Experiment posts, you’ll know how this all started: Post 1 – “A Strange Journey” Rocky Horror vibes, ground zero, budget zero, and one big question: How can someone who’s always been on the story side of games actually create a game?” Post 2 – “My Hogwarts Letter Has F

Indiana Jones and the Temple of Baldr Every adventure has that moment where thinking stops and doing begins—where you step from “What if…  into “Let’s see.” For me, that moment was opening Baldr as a creator for the very first time.Not to build. Not to design.Just to look around. Because I’m doing this on a budget of absolutely nothing, the real question wasn’t: “What do I want to make?” It was: “What do I even have?” A Quiet Recon Mission So this first stage became pure expl

Mission Possible: Taking My First Step I accepted the invitation—so now it’s time for the mission. The objective? Build my very first game using Baldr. No coding experience. No budget. Just a story, an idea, and the curiosity to see if I could bring it to life. This wasn’t about testing software; it was about testing me —my storytelling, my creativity, and my willingness to take the leap. If I listened closely, I could almost hear Ethan Hunt asking whether I’d accept this mis

My Hogwarts Letter Has Finally Arrived (Where it all begins…) For years, I worked in a game studio, surrounded by brilliant developers who could conjure entire worlds out of nothing but imagination, code, and caffeine. I’ve always known I was a storyteller. But even though I was part of the team, I never quite felt like I belonged in  the team. While the developers worked their technical wizardry, I was the one handling storylines, writing dialogue, shaping ideas - and yes, a

Ground Zero. Budget Zero. Where it all begins As they say in the Rocky Horror Picture Show, “I would like, if I may…to take you on a strange journey”. One of creativity, curiosity, and the occasional “What does this button do?” moment. It all began, not with lightning or mad science (though there was plenty of coffee fuelled chaos), but a thought, “How can somebody who has spent their entire life on the story side of games, not the technical side, create a game?” I’ve spent y